


Perhaps Love

by L3245



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Attempt at Humor, Awkwardness, F/M, Fluff, POV Luka Couffaine, Romance, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26154802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L3245/pseuds/L3245
Summary: ‘Being known is being loved… and then what?’He bites his lip.‘Come on, Luka… you had this.’Luka has never written a love song. It's not that he hasn't tried--he has, but nothing has ever felt right. It's never bothered him, until one day the words hit him out of the blue.Being known is being loved.Then there are incomplete lyrics and a half-baked tune stuck in his head until he finds a way to finish them.Perhaps a chance encounter (or five!) with a clumsy, but attentive girl will help.
Relationships: Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 9
Kudos: 33
Collections: August 2020 - Exchange





	1. intro

**Author's Note:**

  * For [YaBoiBellabean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YaBoiBellabean/gifts).



> Written for the Miraculous Fanworks Discord event. Title is taken from the song "Perhaps Love" by Eric Nam, featuring Cheeze. No deep reason--I just thought the song had a nice coffee shop feel to it.
> 
> Here you are, Bella. Hope it's close to what you wanted, haha.

_Being known is being loved…_

From his open notebook, the inked words of _thirty minutes ago_ seem to blink up at him innocently. With one hand propping up his chin and the other drumming even beats against the worn, wooden table, Luka stares it back down, as if doing so would make words magically appear on the blank, lined page. Well-- _stare_ might be too soft a word. The musician-songwriter is outright _glaring_ at the document, his teal blue eyes a furious storm in contrast to the serene calm his body posture exudes.

 _‘Being known is being loved… and then what?’_ He bites his lip. _‘Come on, Luka… you had this.’_

The line had come to him as he was biking home from his campus. It’s final exams week of his first year, and the sudden flash of inspiration was like a glimmer of light in the dark stressful hole that was this hellish week. One second--biking exhaustedly, the weight of the world on his shoulders crushing whatever creative spirit he had. The next-- _’being known is being loved’_ blaring in his mind along with some vague hint of a melody, and Luka was ducking into the nearest coffee shop to write it all down before it went away.

Now, he’s in one of the coziest atmospheres he’s ever experienced. There’s a worn, but still comfortable cushion on the seat beneath him, a warm, golden light illuminates his semi-private alcove, and the air is laden with the delicious aromas of fresh bread and smoky coffee. Everything is perfect.

However, inexplicably, Luka’s creativity is absolutely shot. 

The musician blames it on the fact that he’s never written a true, proper love song. Sure, there were attempts in high school, little sappy stanzas scrawled on the backs of illicitly-passed notes. Those were for the short-lived crushes, the brief bouts of infatuation, the sparks of admiration that petered out in awkward ghostings over text. For the most part, Luka’s focused on other aspects of his life, things he can relate to.

He doesn’t know why he’s starting now--it’s not as if he’s _met_ anyone in his college courses. All Luka knows though, is that the words he’s written are real, and they just _had_ to be a love song.

_‘Okay, no big deal, people have always written about things they haven’t personally experienced.’_

But his pen keeps tapping and his fingers keep drumming and the words don’t materialize. Sighing, the musician gives up and fishes for his wallet. Maybe a snack will get those creative juices flowing again.

Despite the modest amount of clientele, there’s only a single person working today at the Tom & Sabine Patisserie and Café. Small and wearing a coffee-colored apron, Luka almost misses her amongst the browns and pastels of the back. 

“Excuse me, can I get one of your chocolate croissants? Heated up, please,” he asks politely, his mind still lingering on his unfinished lyrics and incomplete melody. 

Her response is a bit more... animated than he’d expected.

She whips around in surprise. “Who--uwa!” She turns around so fast that the boxes for replacement cups she’s been precariously balancing come crashing towards him. Reacting quickly, Luka bends over the counter enough to help steady them, his cool fingers brushing against the girl’s warm hands.

“Oh my gosh! I’m _so_ sorry, I didn’t hear you approach…”

“No, you’re okay, I…”

Their eyes meet, startled, wide-eyed ocean blue against surprised, taken-aback teal.

This close, Luka can see the very faint freckles scattered over the bridge of her nose. She blinks, and he notices that her lashes are quite long. And she’s blushing, the wisps of hair escaping her pigtails doing very little to cover the color on her cheeks. The longer he stares, the more pronounced that red color becomes.

 _‘...oh,’_ Luka thinks. 

Her heart song is _gorgeous._ The musician has only just met her, but it’s never taken him too long to establish a basic melody that suited every individual. Sure, the tune could change once he got to know the person better, but for the most part, he had them down pat. And this girl? Something about her melody just knocks him off balance.

 _‘Maybe it’s because she’s cute,’_ a little voice in his head supplies helpfully. He mentally smacks himself. _‘Bad Luka.’_

She’s also speaking. “U-um… sir… thank you for the help, but…”

“Oh--right, uh--” Luka hurriedly steps back as she shoots him a thankful, but bemused smile. 

“All right, you said you wanted a chocolate croissant heated up,” she states cheerfully, typing away at the register.

Luka nods, the calm smile on his face hiding his internal screaming. She has _dimples._ _Dimples!_

“And--let me guess, an espresso too?” the dark-haired girl asks.

Luka nods again. Then stops, backtracking and shaking his head rapidly. “Actually, no--sorry, just, one moment,” he tells her, hoping to whatever god was out there that he didn’t sound too awkward. 

He probably did. He _totally_ did. Oh god.

Luka wasn’t planning on ordering a drink, but he’s in too deep now to say no. He peers behind her at the quaint chalkboard menu hanging on the wall, nose wrinkling at the wide array of available black poisons--sorry, _coffees_. Finally, Luka spots his salvation in tiny, cramped font at the bottom.

“One hot chocolate, please. Extra whipped cream,” he orders quietly.

She arches an eyebrow at him, still with that intrigued sort of amusement--because who comes into a _coffee shop_ and orders a _hot chocolate_ that’s clearly only there for _children?_ Luka’s heard that a million times in people’s ‘heart songs’ if not their words. In response, the teenager stares her down with all the genial politeness he can muster. 

The “I’m Not Okay” by My Chemical Romance playing in his head intensifies.

“Gotcha,” the dark-haired girl says, the expected judgment surprisingly absent from her tone. “Sorry, I just thought you looked a little tired. We get a lot of university students like you and espressos and double espressos are all they seem to order.”

Luka pauses, then chuckles genuinely, even if it’s tinged with no small amount of relief. “I did just get out of the _worst_ political science exam with more on the way,” he admits, shrugging. “Guess I wasn’t in the mood for espresso today.”

Or ever. But she didn’t need to know that. She probably chugs the overly-caffeinated stuff daily, working here.

“You and me both on that,” she giggles. His breath quickens. “This is for…?” 

The dark-haired girl holds up a paper cup and a sharpie, and _god_ , now that Luka has witnessed her smile, her heart song is practically blaring in the background. It even has a similar melody to the one that’s camped out in his head and refused to come out for the past half hour. If he _just_ tweaks a few notes here and there, speeds up the tempo, perhaps…

_‘Being known is being loved. You and me both… hm…’_

“Luka,” he replies softly, distantly realizing the new melody he’s concocted goes perfectly with the rapid beating of his heart.

Later, he’s sitting back at his table, enjoying the residual warmth of his empty drink and picking at the remaining crumbs of the flaky croissant. The song lyrics are still unfinished, but there are more words written on the page than there were before. They’re hopeful and sweet, the words present in emotion if not quantity. At the very least, the space on the page he’s reserved for the chords has been all marked up with a melody he can now hear quite clearly, soft and gentle, with just a hint of _push_. 

And just a few minutes ago, he was struggling to even put down more than five words of the love song. 

_‘Huh. Strange.’_

Luka turns the coffee cup over in his hand thoughtfully.


	2. verse

Luka doesn’t think about the song until about a week later, as he’s calling Juleka on the phone while biking home.

“...what about you? Is anyone out there good enough for my big brother?”

A wry smile forms on Luka’s face at that comment as he narrowly avoids a girl and her overly-friendly dog. The clearly-flustered girl bobs her head apologetically at him, and he can’t help but think the sight-- _ clumsy, innocent, a little playful _ \--is familiar. And nice. The smile on his face becomes a bit softer, a bit brighter. He subconsciously bites his lip.

“Hello?”

“No, Jule. Unlike you, not all of us have a childhood friend that’s supported and loved them for a little over a decade,” he teases her, his response a bit delayed. “We commoners have to settle for bumping randomly into our soulmates.”

“Ha-ha. You  _ know  _ I’m just asking because I care for you--”

“Yeah, I know, but--”

“--and also you’ve been asking a lot about my relationship and how I feel about it. Like, a  _ lot.” _

_ That  _ makes an eyebrow arch. Was he? 

“And while I appreciate that,” Juleka continues, “I can tell there’s something on your mind. So if it’s not a girl, is it a song? It  _ is  _ a song, right?” There’s a hint of excitement in the goth girl’s normally-even voice. Coming from her, a hint speaks  _ volumes. _

Luka slows his bike to a stop. “...”

“Bro, I’m so happy for you. It’s been a while.”

“...thanks, Jule,” he replies tiredly. The college student keeps most of that weariness out of his voice, but just in case, he ends the conversation quickly. “Say hi to mom for me? I gotta go.”

Juleka accepts that easily enough. A few pleasantries and light-hearted ribbings later, Luka hangs up. After, he stares down at his phone for a moment, realizing how pale and numb his fingers are around the pitch-black screen. Despite his two jackets, Luka is numb all over, and shivering too, only feeling a painful sensation as a powerful gust of winter wind threatens to knock him over. Now that he’s off the bike, he’s  _ freezing _ .

He surveys the area for a place to warm up before realizing he knows where he is. Turning around, Luka spots faded red brick and a wooden, rustic sign with soft golden lettering.

Tom & Sabine Patisserie and Café.

There’s a lot more people in the coffee shop today than the last time Luka visited. He takes his place at the back of the line, rubbing his hands in a futile attempt at warming them. He’s greeted with a bright smile when it’s his turn.

“Oh! Hot Chocolate!” the same girl says cheerfully.

Luka gives her a lazy smile. Eyes twinkling, he responds, “Clumsy Girl.”

She rolls her eyes. “What can I get you today?”

“Hm…” 

The teal-haired boy studies the menu again, thinking he should order something new in front of the large line of people, but also not really wanting to deviate. Last time Luka was here, he was too confused and intimidated by words like “Americano,” “macchiato,” and “chai.” And honestly? He’s still lost.

“Same as last time?” the dark-haired girl supplies quickly, not-so-subtly glancing behind at the growing line behind him. “I know your order.”

Luka smiles in relief and takes out his wallet. “Yeah, sure. That’d be great.”

She doesn’t ask for his name, already sticking the pastry into the oven and pushing his cup under the hot water machine and moving onto the next customer. Luka shrugs it off. It’s not really necessary. No one else ordered the same as him, and the coffee shop worker probably wanted to move the line along quickly. So when he receives his croissant and hot chocolate from the pick up counter, he’s pleasantly surprised by the swirly, black cursive on the side of his cup.

She remembered.

He takes a seat at the same cozy alcove as last time. Luckily, the previous occupants were just leaving as Luka approached. With the warmth from the food bringing feeling back to his hands, Luka figured he could try his hand at writing that song again--just until he’s warmed up enough to properly head home, anyways.

However, the words don’t come out easily. It’s like he’s some ragged towel, twisted and wrung for every last drop of creativity and inspiration that just isn’t there. And he knows why. Try as he might, Luka hears the echoes of his sister’s words.

_ “I’m so happy for you.” _

He drums his fingers against the table. Glares at the words. Bites his lip.

_ “It’s been a while.” _

But the insidious thoughts cloud up the bright atmosphere the cafe provides, getting darker and darker, until--

“May I sit here?” A gentle voice. Female. A bit nervous, but determined.

The student is jolted out of his musings when he meets bluebell colored eyes. It’s Clumsy Girl. Distracted, he can feel his mood picking up immensely.

“Is fraternizing with the customers even allowed?” Luka questions after a beat, tilting his head. 

He’s not saying _no_ though, and his body language says quite the opposite. The pig-tailed girl apparently picks up on it because she plops into the empty seat anyways. Cute. Luka takes another sip, the paper rim not quite hiding the upwards curve of his lips, nor the amused crinkling around his eyes.

“I’m due for a break, there’s no one in line, and I’m in charge of this place while my parents are off vacationing with my grandma.” She eyes him slyly. “Besides, you looked absolutely miserable and it’s  _ really  _ bringing the atmosphere down. Who’s to say I’m not just going above and beyond the call of duty to cheer you up?”

_ ‘Pffffft.’ _

Luka snorts, a wide grin breaking out. The girl looks at him in surprise, and maybe a little bit of fondness. Too late, the normally-stoic boy realizes his mistake and rearranges his face back into that front of passive agreeability.

“Well, when you put it that way…” He takes another drink nonchalantly.

“I am. Thank you for understanding _._ ” She leans forward a little, resting her elbows on the aged wooden table. Her hands come up to support and frame her face invitingly. “So, _dear customer,_ anything I can help with? As long as it isn’t school, or chemistry...”

He laughs lightly. “No, nothing like that. I’m just writing a song and it’s been a bit…  _ stubborn.  _ It doesn’t help that I’m trying to write about love after only a grand total of one-- _ ”  _ he holds up his pointer finger “-- _ one _ girlfriend.”

“I’m sure it’s lovely. May I see?”

Luka blinks. He glances down at his notebook, suddenly uncharacteristically shy. Outside of his family and inner circle of friends--which admittedly is very small, and growing smaller as time flies by and everyone pursues different life paths in different colleges--no one has shown much interest in his music writing. Luka’s never minded that, because he’s always been the private type, but a part of him has always desired a tiny bit of attention for his most-loved hobby. 

For a complete stranger to sincerely want to see it, see  _ him _ , essentially...

Warmth blossoms in his chest.

Luka fights to maintain an expression of neutrality. After a brief moment of deliberation, the musician spins the notebook on the table so that his flowing script faces the dark-haired girl. Wordlessly, he pushes it towards her.

He tries not to look too invested as she reads. Instead, Luka makes a point to stare off into the distance like some super-cool, super-suave dude who could poop out magnum opuses on the regular instead of an awkward nineteen-year-old with a thought process resembling that of scrambled eggs that are simultaneously runny and burnt.

_ ‘...case in point,’  _ he sighs internally.

“I like it.”

Luka looks at her in disbelief. 

“Yeah, no, I really do,” she reassures him with a kind smile, carefully passing the notebook back. “There’s not a lot, but what you  _ do  _ have is very sweet and sincere. Well--it’s a  _ lot  _ better than anything  _ I  _ could write anyways.”

“No boyfriend to inspire you?” Luka doesn’t know where that came from. He ignores how interested he is in her answer.

“Oh, no. No girlfriend either,” she giggles, and Luka’s heart becomes  _ embarrassingly  _ light. “I’ve spent all my eighteen years in the city of love. You’d think I’d have found  _ someone _ , but…” She trails off good-naturedly and he nods.

It really do be like that sometimes.

It’s her turn to look a bit dazed now, lost in her own world. “But you have your own ideas on it, right?” Luka asks, hoping to keep her here and talking. Bluebell eyes flicker over to him hesitantly.

“Well… maybe.”

“All right. Tell me that, then. Maybe you can inspire me to actually finish this thing,” he says earnestly, clicking his pen.

She pouts. “Don’t laugh,” she half-threatens, half-pleads him.

“I wouldn’t.” And Luka’s sincere on that.

For a moment, he thinks she won’t tell him after all, that she was just humoring him out of boredom on her break. Then--

“I don’t know… the little things, I guess?” she offers slowly. “In your own words, you wrote ‘being known is being loved.’ I guess I take that to mean the small acts of affection people do for each other. A custom macaron flavor. A handmade scarf. A heartfelt note. That sort of thing.”

That’s… surprisingly sweet. And adorable.

Still, Luka can’t help his next comment. “Sounds like you just want a ton of gifts.”

A hand shoots forward and socks him on the arm. He winces a little, not expecting that much strength from the dainty girl. “Hey! You promised!” she complains.

“Am I laughing?”

“Well--no, but--teasing is  _ cheating-- _ ” But now she’s laughing.

She’s expressive, Luka notices. As the girl speaks, she gestures to emphasize nearly every word--it’s not all dramatic, sometimes it’s just a flick of the wrist, or a pointing of a finger. Other times, she spreads her arms out wide, like a bird in flight. Only once in their conversation does she remain completely still, to inform him of her grandfather’s passing with an air of saudade.

He notices some flesh-colored bandages wrapped around a few digits.

They talk for what must have been about forty minutes, if the shift from sunset-orange to pitch-black outside is any indication. It feels like only five minutes.

Before she has to go back to work, Luka learns:

She sews as a hobby--clothes, to be precise--and hopes to make it her career after graduating. The bandages are from her clumsiness with the needle-- _ ”Yes, even now, shut up, Hot Chocolate.”  _

Her parents own the bakery together, but her grandmother “Nonna Gina” finally persuaded them to take their first vacation in over a decade. 

She has no siblings and is a complete pushover with children, but still she gets jealous when she sees how happy her friend Alya is with her twin sisters-- _ ”Trust me, Clumsy Girl, it’s not as great as it looks.” _

Her favorite color is pink.

They haven’t touched much on the subject of “love,” but Luka manages two whole verses anyways, the melody ringing in his head loud and clear and sweet.

_ Being known is being loved. You and me, the little things are what we’re made of. _

He realizes later that he doesn’t even know her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't write poetry, but now I feel like I need to just to feel complete. Hoo-boy.


End file.
